


First Dates

by ah_maa_zing



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Sort of season 4 spec with callbacks to canon events, established olicity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 10:03:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4662525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ah_maa_zing/pseuds/ah_maa_zing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver and Felicity's first date didn't end as well as they'd hoped. A year later, they reminiscence, and consider how much has changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Dates

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a dialogue-only fic, and…well, it wasn’t working as well as I wanted it to, so I tweaked things a little and it ended up here. 
> 
> Full disclosure – the idea for this came to me as I was bored at work and browsing the arrowtags blog on Tumblr (check them out if you're on that platform -- so cool!) and came across a gifset of Oliver and Felicity's meeting at Big Belly Burger in Season 1, Episode 12. The comments joked about how Oliver thought he was on a date with Felicity, and brought up the idea that Oliver tells her this during their summer of love. I loved the idea, and ran with it. Hope I did good. :)

“What’s the worst first date you’ve ever been on?”

It’s ironic that he asks her this as they are sat in Corrado Italian Bistro, a year to the day following their own first and highly ill-fated date. So much has changed since then; and yet, the familiarity and comfort of being here together quietens any lingering fears Felicity might have. That doesn’t stop her from casting a few furtive glances around the room, of course, just in case. One can never be _too_ careful, especially in their line of work. The restaurant has been newly rebuilt, the city newly renamed, and the combination of these changes makes Felicity both nostalgic for what _was_ , and inordinately pleased for what _is_. Their lives literally imploded a year ago, and it seems like such an act of defiance to be back -- whole, healthy, together. _Take that, Count Vertigo!_

As if he knows what she’s thinking -- she hates that about him; his uncanny ability to pretty much read her mind -- Oliver reaches over and takes her hand in his, slowly rubbing the underside of her palm with his thumb, the way he knows she likes. As always, it soothes her, calming her slightly frayed nerves back into rest.

Felicity looks up at his smiling face -- and stifles a groan. The restaurant is awash in candlelight, and its glow manages to mould itself to every contour in Oliver’s face in a way that she _swears_ makes him look like a fallen angel. If she hadn’t been confronted -- numerous times -- with the proof of his mortality, she might go a long way to fancying him a real, live Greek god.  

“What’s brought this on?”, she asks, squeezing his hand once in silent thanks before letting go.

“Nothing. Just that, well, here we are, on the anniversary of our first date -- in the same restaurant, no less -- and I can’t help thinking about it, especially the way it ended. You told me after that you’d had worse first dates, and I never really asked you to elaborate. I guess I’m just wondering what could be worse than the restaurant literally blowing up.”

Felicity presses her lips together to keep from smiling. Who knew that Oliver Queen could be so sentimental? She shouldn’t be surprised, really. They’ve been together almost six months now, have travelled across the country in a car that, by the end, was begging to be put out of its misery. They’ve learned so much about each other, more than some people learn in a lifetime. She’s seen the way he loves when he allows himself to -- openly, wholeheartedly. She’s seen Oliver Queen as he was meant to be -- warm and tender, loving, happy. At peace with himself and the world around him. They’ve lived together, laughed together, loved together; found home together. And even now that they’re back in Starling City (remembering to call it “Star” City is about as successful as remembering to call Detective Lance “Captain”), she knows that the man Oliver discovered away from this place is the man he brought back with him, and that things are, and will forever be, changed.

And yet, some things always remain the same. His freakish memory chief among them. Because _of course_ he remembers a throwaway comment she’d made a year ago; this is the same man who remembered -- three years later -- the colour of a pen she was chewing on the first time they met.

It amuses her that he’s waited this long to ask her the question.

“Don’t get me wrong”, she says, pausing only to take a big gulp of her favourite red wine. “The restaurant blowing up definitely makes the Top Ten on my list of ‘terrible-things-that-happen-on-dates’. But the part _before_ the restaurant blowing up? Not so bad. Sure, I didn’t get to eat anything, and I babbled a little about your constant shirtlessness -- although, as you may have learned by now, that is _never_ going to be a problem with me -- and I’m pretty sure our waiter was placing bets on how fast we were going to get through dinner and _get out of here **if** you know what I mean_ \-- is he here, by the way? We should find him, I’m sure he’d appreciate an update -- but other than that? Stellar first date material. Really.”

Oliver is used to Felicity’s propensity for sentences that run on too long and veer off into entertaining but distracting tangents, and he seems to have perfected the art of waiting patiently for her to finish, all while ever so slightly raising an eyebrow. That's another thing she hates about him -- the way in which he can manage to raise a single eyebrow _perfectly_. Whenever she tries it, she looks like an advert for Botox-gone-wrong. God, if she didn’t love him so much, she’d probably hate him.

“Felicity.”

“Yes?”, she says innocently.

“You didn’t actually answer the question. Worst date ever?” He’s tapping a finger on the table now, a staccato rhythm, and she wonders what his interest in this really is.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

Oliver halfheartedly rolls his eyes, apparently already having anticipated this. “Deal.”

Felicity leans back and thinks. “Okay…where to start. Well, there was this one guy in college who collected Furbies -- you know, those robotic toys that looked part-owl, part-creepy-Gremlin? Apparently they made some kind of “retro revival” back then and all of a sudden they were cool again. Which, in itself, is fine -- but then he spent the rest of the evening scrolling through his phone, showing me pictures of his “babies” and ranting at me about how his girlfriend had left him because she couldn’t handle sharing his “infinite well of love” with his precious children. Like, I said - _weird_. Then there was the guy who fancied himself a wine connoisseur and insisted on ordering for me all night -- and you know how I feel about my wine. When I told him I preferred choosing my own drinks he told me that my “feminine palate” was not as “evolved” as his and really, it was better to let him choose for me so that I didn’t end up making the “wrong” choice and “ruining the mood”. _Oh!_ And _then_ there was the guy who thought he was God’s gift to the universe and insisted on flirting with every passing female of any age or sexual orientation -- he literally told two women, who were _obviously on a date with each other,_ that he was “totally up _*wink wink*_ for a threeway because lesbians _love_ that”. Needless to say, that did not go down well with any of the women involved.”

Oliver shakes his head in disbelief. “Wow. That’s...quite a list of losers you’ve dated.” He sighs dramatically. “Lucky for you, those days are over.”

Now Felicity’s the one rolling her eyes. “Mhmm. I gave you three of the suckers. Your turn, Queen. Worst first date?”

His eyes take on a glint she can only describe as mischievous. “It’s not so much a ‘ _worst_ date’ story as it is….a misinterpretation.”

“Explain that sentence.”

“Okay. This one time, I _thought_ I was going on a date with a girl, and it turned out that, well, she’d just invited me to a coffee shop to hand me a notebook that was linked to the mysterious disappearance of my stepfather, who, as it turned out, was actually the first man to seek her out for her technological prowess.”

Felicity narrows her eyes.  A smirk is playing at the corner of his lips, and she has to work very hard not to lean over and kiss it off.

“Oliver.”

“Yes?”, he says innocently.

“ _That’s_ your “worst date ever”? The time I asked you to come to Big Belly Burger so that I could  _unburden my soul_ from the heavy weight of the notebook and the worry from Walter’s disappearance? The time I came to you hoping that I was doing the right thing in trusting a man who had lied to me so ridiculously as to almost be insulting?”

“I feel like you could have framed that a little less dramatically, but yes.”

“Oliver! _That wasn’t even a date!_ ”

“Well, I know that _now_ , obviously.” Tongue firmly in cheek, he continues, “But...well, you did invite me for coffee at what is universally acknowledged as “date time”, and we did have this whole “flirty banter” thing going on, and you did say you were afraid to come to my house, and I just figured...”

Felicity is torn between incredulity and amusement. “You figured I asked you out on a date without, you know, _actually asking you out on a date_?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, is that how you got all your dates back in the day? Wishful thinking with a dash of hot-guy privilege?”

He grins at that. “It’s so cute that you think I’m hot.”

“Please. You should know by now that I’m only really here for your body. Okay, and the face. But mostly the body.”

“Ah. That’s why you insist on being there every time I use the salmon ladder.”

“ _Obviously_. If a man uses a salmon ladder without an appreciative audience, is there really any point? But back to this for a moment. I can’t believe that you really thought that was a date. Although, now that I recall, you did wave at me pretty enthusiastically.”

“Yes, well.” He clears his throat, suddenly embarrassed.  “That was...you know.”

“Awwww.”

He points a finger. “Stop.”

“Oh! And then I told you all those terrible things about the notebook and Walter and your mother and...I… _oh_.”

“Yeah.” Another dramatic sigh, and it's clear he’s messing with her. “It was truly crushing.”

Felicity knows that the subject of his mother is still -- understandably -- sensitive, and it’s rare that either of them bring it up. He’s been getting better at talking about her though, remembering the good times without ignoring the bad. The nightmares have ceased, and the fact that he’s able to make jokes gives her heart that Oliver’s finally dealing with his inner demons in a healthy way. Coming back to Starling City hadn’t been a choice, but a necessity -- their family needed them. Felicity had worried that returning to the place that had borne witness to so much of Oliver’s loss would send him spiralling back into that cave he’d built around himself, but she’s pleased that this doesn’t seem to be the case; that Oliver is finding new footing even as he steps on old ground.

“You know”, she says, suddenly nostalgic. “When I told you that day that, in spite of your ridiculous lies and silly excuses, I felt like I could trust you, I meant it. I asked you why that was.”

“Yeah.” Oliver ducks his head, sheepish. “I said something stupid about having “one of those faces.””

“You did.”

“You looked at me with such...disappointment. Even then you saw right through me. I couldn’t bear to see that look in your eyes. I hated myself for putting it there.”

Felicity reaches over and grasps his hand. “I didn’t know what it was that made me trust you so implicitly. I still don’t know. I just….”. She pauses as if something has only just occurred to her. She smiles, almost to herself, and looks up at Oliver, who stares back intently, waiting. Slowly, deliberately, she says, “I guess... _there was just something about you_.”

Felicity is certain she will never tire of the way Oliver looks at her in moments like this; the way his whole face lights up, the smile that starts in his beautiful blue eyes and seems to course through his whole body. The little laugh he huffs out, as if he’s been holding his breath all this time. Felicity doesn’t know what she’s done to deserve the way this man looks at her, and she really doesn’t know what it was that drew them together, or how and why a conversation between two relative strangers can somehow become so monumental as to literally change their lives forever; but whatever it is that has led them here is precious. Not fragile -- never that. She’s come to learn that the love that exists between them isn’t gold dust. It’s solid steel, forged in fire; strong and able to withstand any pressure. If she’s learnt anything in the past year, it’s that come what may, they can survive. They _will_ survive. Bad first dates and explosions notwithstanding.

As they leave the restaurant, she finds herself making a promise. Every year on this day, as long as this place is standing, as long as they both are here, they’ll come back. As a celebration of who they are today, and a commemoration of who they were the year before.

A new first date, every year.

She knows he'll get a kick out of that, and so she’ll tell him when they get home. After he’s had a chance to thoroughly appreciate the brand-new lingerie set she bought just for this occasion, in his favourite colour, of course. She’s counting on him remembering _that_ for a very long time.

They reach the car. “Oliver”, she says, turning to face him, her arms snaking around his waist. Immediately his arms come up to rest at her hips, and he pulls her in close, smiling as he presses a soft kiss on her lips. His forehead rests against hers. 

“Yes, Felicity?”

“Did you really think that was a date?”

He smiles, knowing she won’t let this go.

“No”, he says finally, pulling back to look at her. “But I hoped it was. You were so bright. When I was with you I...felt like I could escape my life, just for a little bit. I could talk to you and forget about all the things that had consumed my life for so long. When I was with you, I hated myself a little less. So, a part of me hoped that it _could_ be a date, that maybe one day it _would_ be a date; and for a moment, as I saw you walk in, as I waved at you, I imagined that it was.”

Her hands came up to cradle his face as she sighed his name. 

“Then it was.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos saves lives. Or makes fic writers very, very happy!


End file.
